In the cold, silent warehouse, ice coffins stood around Zhao Kaiming.
He had sat there for a full three hours.
Without moving, like a wooden statue.
The hope in his heart had gradually been extinguished over those three hours.
The time he had agreed upon with the ghost had long since passed.
During that time, the bodies of his dead relatives within the ice coffins showed no sign whatsoever of coming back to life. The dead remained dead, and he was the only one still alive.
Even now, he could not say what kind of existence the ghost that followed him truly was.
Zhao Kaiming only knew that every time he asked the ghost to do something, someone close to him would die, while he himself remained unharmed.
That was the price of using a ghost's power.
At first, he had not known that. By the time he realized it, it was already too late. His wife, daughter, parents, relatives—everyone had been killed by the ghost because of him.
Compared to fear and death, what tormented Zhao Kaiming more was the guilt and grief of having personally killed his own family.
Sometimes, he had even had no choice but to do it.
From the day the nightmare began, Zhao Kaiming had had no way back. He could only keep walking down this dark road, placing all his hopes on fulfilling the ghost's conditions, reviving all his dead relatives, and starting everything over.
Even though he had repeatedly suspected that this might be nothing more than a trick by the ghost.
Even so, Zhao Kaiming could only believe. He did not dare harbor even the slightest doubt.
Because any wavering would snuff out the last spark of salvation he had left.
Nearly four hours had passed.
It was around two in